Mother Dearest Come For Tea
by Zofie C. Field
Summary: It's 6AM and Alison has an emergency.


**Mother Dearest Come For Tea**

_Sarah, you need to come over immediately. It's an emergency._

That's what Sarah had woken up to this morning, Alison's shrill voice as her 6:00 wake-up call. Emergency isn't taken lightly in this family, so she pulled on a pair of pants and the first pair of shoes she tripped over, and made it to Alison's by 6:25.

Alison, decked out in a nightgown and bathrobe, flings open the door and greets her with, "Of course Felix picks today to go on a _couples retreat_ with Colin." She says _couples retreat _framed by air quotes and a healthy eye roll. "The one day I really need him!"

She spins on her heel, and marches off, leaving Sarah to close the door and follow her down the hallway. Sarah finds her in the closet, teetering on the top run of a step stool, lugging a large box down from the tallest shelf. With a grunt, she shoulders the box and then lowers it into Sarah's waiting hands. "Find somewhere to put those," she says, with a dismissive wave of her hand.

In the box are three extremely loud vases and a pink granite Buddha statue. Sarah hefts the Buddha statue out of the box to examine it. Not her taste, exactly (and apparently not Alison's either).

"My mother is a bit garish," Alison comments as she walks past. "Just put them on the coffee tables."

"Oy! Alison, wait!" Sarah sets down the statue and follows Alison into the kitchen, finding her madly scrubbing pans in the sink, suds up to her elbows. "Alison, what the hell is going on?"

Alison ignores her, until Sarah walks over to the sink, and grabs one of her sister's soapy arms. She snaps, pulling her arm away and whipping around furiously to face her.

"MY MOTHER IS VISITING TODAY!" She shouts this, waiving her arms and sending soapy water sloshing around the kitchen. "SHE CALLED ME AT 5:45 THIS MORNING TO ANNOUNCE HERSELF FOR BREAKFAST. WHO DOES THAT?"

Arms still dripping, she begins to pace the kitchen. Sarah steps aside, giving her a wide birth.

"No _Please, _no _Alison, do you mind?_" she mutters angrily as she walks. "Just calls me up out of the blue. A daughter needs some warning! Sweet Lords, that woman!"

She pauses in front of Sarah, their faces inches apart and whispers harshly, "I don't even know if she knows I'm a c-l-o-n-e!"

As she resumes her pacing, still muttering, Sarah watches her, slightly alarmed. Suddenly, Alison stops and spins to face her.

"She may not know I'm a clone, _or,_" she pauses, her face contorted with rage at the realization, "_or _she could be some diabolical mastermind willing to give birth to a genetic freak and _monitor_ it."

She takes a deliberate deep breath and blows it out slowly, fingers combing through her hair. "Actually," she says, thoughtfully, wiping her wet hands on her robe, "That would explain a lot."

Sarah scrubs her face with her hands and mentally curses Felix. Appeasing the crazy suburban soccer mom is supposed to be his realm of responsibility. With a deep breath, she points to a kitchen stool and commands, "Sit. Now."

Alison sits obediently.

"When does your mother come?"

Alison glances at the clock above the stove, and then at the empty wine rack. "In an hour. I could use a drink."

Sarah sighs, and resigned, nods. "Coffee," she orders, gesturing vaguely towards Alison's large and incomprehensible coffee maker, "and then get dressed."

In the next hour, they manage to rescue the kitchen from soapy doom (in her fury, Alison had left the faucet running, overflowing the sink), to re-do the living room decor in obscenely hideous gifts from Alison's mother, and vacuum every rug on the first floor. Sarah agrees to scrubbing the bathroom tiles, but puts a foot down when Alison suggests they also scrub the front steps and all of the window panes.

At 7:30 on the dot, the door bell rings. Flustered and slightly dusty, Alison puts on her prim and proper posture and her can-do attitude and heads to the door. Halfway down the hall, she whips around and gestures frantically towards Sarah. "You! You can't be here!" she whispers tensely. "Get in the closet."

Annoyed, Sarah resists, but the look of shear desperation on her sister's face has her pulling the closet door shut behind her in seconds. The doorbell rings again.

"Dash it all!" Sarah hears Alison curse.

The closet door swings open. "Sarah! I forgot to put on make-up!"

Eyes rolling, Sarah leans forward and pushes Alison back into the hallway. "Little late for that now, Al."

At the third ring of the doorbell, Alison sighs in defeat. As she snaps the closet door shut, Sarah hears her mutter, "It'll be the first thing out of her mouth, I'd bet my kids' orthodontia on it."

Sarah hears the door swing open, and Alison's proper, "Good morning, Mother."

"A woman of your age really shouldn't be receiving guests without makeup, Alison," the guest of honor chides. "It's unsightly. A little mascara would do you wonders."

Sarah slumps against the wall of the closet and sends up silent thanks for her cold-blooded, murderous, hot-tempered, betraying, secret-keeping, tea-drinking dear of a foster mum.


End file.
